


The Best Revenge

by blackkat



Category: Naruto
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Semi-Seriously, Excessive Swearing, Fix-It of Sorts, Humor, M/M, Politics, Revenge, Romance, Shameless Smut, in case that's not a thing someone is comfortable with, it's Hidan, kind of, of 6 years
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-06-23 01:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15595728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: The best revenge is living well. And maybe also spitefully staging a minor political coup to take over Konoha as payback for getting stuck in an arranged marriage.





	1. Chapter 1

“You called me back from the Guardians for _this_?”

“Don’t be dramatic, Asuma,” the Hokage chides, and Hidan isn't even the one he’s chiding but if he could do more than wiggle a little he’d totally punch Sarutobi in the face on principle for that tone. “The Daimyō had already marked you as having resigned your place. I simply asked you to arrive a little early.”

“For _this_.” Tall, Dark, and Bearded is glaring at the Hokage like he wants to set him on fire, and Hidan approves of the instinct. He flexes his wrists, trying to find some give in the bonds, and his guard promptly grabs his hair, forcing his head down with a hard push. Through his gag, Hidan snarls an insult, but Fumi scowls at him, unimpressed. She pushes his head around to face the half-open door of the Hokage's office, just as Tall, Dark, and Bearded says, “If you're so worried about a political marriage, _you_ should be the one at the altar.”

Hidan throws up a little in his mouth, and even Fumi winces. Faintly. Kind of. It’s mostly around the eyes, but Hidan catches it. There are benefits to being one of the bitch’s former students.

“I,” Sarutobi says firmly, “am a widower, and I will not disrespect the memory of—”

“But you want me to marry a stranger, just for the power it will bring Konoha,” Asuma interrupts, and Hidan would rather cut off his own foot than admit to being mildly interested in someone with the balls to talk to their Kage like that, but he actually is. He narrows his eyes, trying to make out more than vague outlines through the glare coming off the wide windows behind the Hokage, but there's not much hope of that.

“That’s generally the point of political marriages,” Sarutobi says, deceptively mild. “Asuma, this is not actually up for debate. You may consider it an order, if you’d like.”

Asuma makes a wholly frustrated sound. “There are stronger jounin,” he protests, even after what was pretty much an order to stop arguing, and yeah, there are some big balls on this one. Hidan's kind of impressed. “And there are more politically active jounin. Ask Kakashi. He’s the one you’re eyeing as successor, right? Or Genma. Or _Ibiki_. A department head would actually have weight.”

“But none of them would give the gesture the same meaning that your participation does.” Sarutobi taps his pipe on the edge of the desk. “Yugakure and Hot Water Country have offered us free passage through their country for shinobi work, as well as first pick in regards to any of the more militant mission requests they receive. In return, Konoha will guard their borders and take one of their shinobi as a spouse. It’s hardly unheard of in politics, Asuma.”

Even in the glare Hidan can see the stiff set to Asuma's shoulders, the way he’s drawn himself up to his full, looming height. “Just my duty to my village, is it?” he asks, and that tone is on the edge of arctic. “Fine. Yes, sir, I’ll sign my life over to marrying a stranger for Konoha's benefit, _sir_.”

“I'm sure you’ll be very happy together,” Sarutobi returns, unimpressed. The Hokage has quite a pair on him, too, but Hidan still can't quite forget the near miss of **_you_** _should be the one at the altar_ and doesn’t want to think too closely about any of Sarutobi's body parts in general or those ones in particular. “Why don’t you meet your betrothed? He’s waiting outside right now, in fact.”

Asuma spins, and in the same moment Fumi gets a hand under Hidan's elbow and hauls him to his feet. He curses through the gag and kicks at her ankle, but the chain between his feet is too short, and Fumi has to hold him up as he nearly overbalances. Unamused, she shakes him once, hard, and marches him forward, trailing chains bright with seals, to meet his soon-to-be-husband.

There's a long, long moment of silence. Asuma stares, gaze slowly drifting from the top of Hidan's head, over the elaborate gag, down the collar of seals inked around his throat, then across his bound hands and equally bound feet. Just as slowly, his eyes slide back up, and Hidan meets his gaze with a sound of disgust and a vague _you kill ten people and suddenly you're a madman, what can you do?_ sort of shrug.

“What,” Asuma says flatly.

“Ah,” Sarutobi says, and that tone is almost _amused._ “I forgot to mention. Hidan here was rather against Yugakure’s turn towards pacifism, and expressed his discontent by killing almost a dozen of his fellow shinobi. His former jounin instructor came out of retirement to hunt him down and bring him here in time for the wedding.”

Fumi rolls her eyes. Subtly. It’s all in the muscle twitch, but Hidan can read her.

“ _What_ ,” Asuma repeats, dangerously.

“He has a very useful skillset,” Sarutobi says, and fuck, but that’s explanation enough, isn't it? Most places aren’t like Yu, and Hidan's pretty damn glad about that, current circumstances aside. “Jiraiya created an array that will keep him from using his abilities within Konoha, and without permission from a ranking shinobi, so I thought it was worth the risk. I'm sure you’ll get along splendidly.”

Asuma's face says he really rather doubts it, and Hidan makes a noise of vehement but sadly muffled agreement from behind his gag.

 

 

“Home sweet home, I guess,” Asuma says, turning on the lights.

The ringing endorsement doesn’t detract from the fact that it’s a nice house, well away from the Hokage and the rest of the assholes who decided staring was their new favorite pastime. Hidan can feel a bit of his crawling tension easing as soon as Fumi marches him through the door, because it’s one thing to wander into a hostile shinobi village, but it’s another entirely when he can't manage more than the most basic jutsus and doesn’t have a single weapon on him. The bastards took his scythe, his spears, even his damn amulet. That grates more than anything—Hidan told them it was just a necklace, and that idiot with the porcupine hair had pulled it over his head anyway, shut it away in a damn box.

With a hard prod between his shoulder blades, Fumi forces him forward, into the entrance, then kicks him in the calf. Hidan snarls at her, but it barely makes a sound, and with an unimpressed grunt she shoves him down to sit on the ground, then drags his sandals off and gives him a look that’s her version of chiding. Hidan pulls a face at her in return, because he’s not _ten_ anymore, and she thumps him on top of the head with her fist. Hissing, Hidan jerks back, and she rises, getting a hand in his collar and pulling him with her.

When Hidan is facing the correct direction again, he can see Asuma is watching them, one brow lifted, and the expression on his face is vaguely conflicted. Dark eyes slide over Hidan, then on to Fumi, and he pauses for a long moment before he asks, “Just how old are you?”

Hidan blinks, though—if Asuma didn’t even know he was getting married, there was likely no chance for him to read the file Hidan knows Yu sent over ahead of time. That’s—honestly kind of shitty of the Hokage, though going by the argument when Asuma found out, the old man didn’t want to give Asuma any extra time to protest.

Fumi raises a brow right back at Asuma, then reaches out and taps Hidan's gag pointedly, fingernails clicking against the metal. Hidan growls at her, not able to manage anything else, and she thumps him lightly in the temple with a fist before turning back to Asuma and pulling a chain strung with several keys over her head. She holds it out, offering it to him, and then flashes Hidan a _behave or else_ sign. Hidan is entirely too familiar with that one, and he rolls his eyes.

“For the gag?” Asuma asks, a little warily, but he takes the chain, flicking through the keys. Eyes the gag for a moment, then comes up with the smallest key and steps forward. “Okay if I touch you?” he wants to know. Fumi waves him on, but Asuma just glances at her, eyes narrowed faintly, and then meets and holds Hidan's gaze, very obviously waiting for his response.

A little surprised, because that’s a hell of a lot more respect than Hidan has gotten from anyone in Yu, _ever_ , even if it’s just regarding bodily autonomy, Hidan nods emphatically. One corner of Asuma's lips twitches up in a crooked smile, and he steps around behind Hidan, dropping one hand on his shoulder. It’s a telegraph of his movements, and Hidan lets out a breath, focusing on that, on the hand that touches the lock on his gag. There's a scrape of metal, a click, and then the fingers slide off his shoulder. The gag loosens, dragging across Hidan's tongue, and he jerks away from it only to have fingers catch the back of his head.

“Easy,” Asuma says, and there's a grim note to his voice. “Some of the straps are still connected. Give me a second.”

Fumi’s eyebrow goes back up, pale gaze flickering from Asuma to Hidan and back, and she frowns. Kind of. One eye crinkles a little, but it’s her version of a frown, Hidan can tell. When he gives her a questioning look, though, she signs _pay attention_ and doesn’t otherwise answer.

Hidan can't quite tell what he’s supposed to be paying attention _to_ , beyond the way Asuma's fingers are working at the catch, and that’s honestly not very interesting. He tests the bands of metal around his wrists again, but there's no more give than the last hundred times he’s tried it, so he subsides with a huff. At his back, Asuma makes a soft sound that could be amusement or victory, and in the same moment the gag slides the rest of the way out of his mouth, clattering to the floor. Asuma makes no attempt to grab it as he steps around to Hidan's side again, studying his face with narrow eyes.

Hidan barely spares him a glance, rounding on Fumi with a snarl. “You fucking _bitch_ , you're a goddamn _heathen_ and I'm going to give you blood to Jashin—ow!”

Fumi tugs on his hair again, giving him the reproachful look that never worked even when he was a genin. At his mulish expression, she huffs, forcibly turning his head back towards Asuma, and signs, _answer him._

“What?” Hidan asks blankly. “What was the—”

 _Your AGE_ , Fumi tells him, and that’s a glare in the tilt of her mouth. Hidan can see it.

“Nineteen,” Hidan says testily. “Fucking S-rank criminal—”

Fumi covers his mouth, muffling the words, then signs, _Not anymore_. _Jounin of Yu, soon to be jounin of Konoha._

“Is that supposed to be a bad thing?” Hidan retorts. “I'm out of the fucking village—ow ow ow! Let the fuck go!”

Because she’s the biggest bitch Hidan has ever met, Fumi twists his ear one more time before she releases him. _Behave_ , she tells him, and that’s her serious face. Hidan _hates_ that face. Turning, she inclines her head to Asuma, elbows Hidan hard in the arm, and signs, _I will stand as his guard until the wedding and then return to Yu_.

“She’s sticking around until we’re hitched,” Hidan translates, because Asuma's eyes are following her hands without comprehension. Hidan wishes he could forget all the signs, but it was either learn them or die from knocks on the head as a genin, and he hasn’t managed to wipe them out of his brain yet. “Like a good little fucking guard dog—fuck you!”

Fumi pushes his head down further into a bow, then signs, _I apologize for my student._

“Former!” Hidan snaps. “Fucking _former_ student, and you shouldn’t be apologizing for me, bitch, I just fucking objected—”

Fumi lets him up, but when he straightens with a jerk she’s staring at him, and the look on her face is the same as the one she was wearing when she cornered him at the border, grim and faintly sad and entirely set. _You killed your neighbors. You killed our fellow shinobi._

“A shinobi’s job is to kill!” Hidan snarls at her. “If the Headman wants to make Yu into a shitty tourist trap, that’s his own fucking business, but I'm not going to let anyone take being a shinobi from me! You're the one who fucking taught me that!”

Fumi thumps him on the head again, harder this time, but doesn’t answer. She looks at Asuma, signs, _I will be outside if you have need of me_ , and strides out the door, letting it fall shut behind her with a soft click. No slammed doors for her, Hidan thinks bitterly, wrenching at his cuffs again. Fucking _bitch_. She could have just let him go. She could have just decided not to come out of retirement at all. If she’d stayed in her house, kept to herself and not volunteered, he would have made it over the border and out of Hot Springs Country entirely. Then no one could have caught him.

“You’re bleeding,” Asuma says into the silence, and brings up the keys again, dangling them distastefully from one finger. “Come on, I've got a medical kit in the main room.”

Hopefully that means he’s going to take the cuffs off. And the chains, because Hidan is over having to shuffle everywhere. He takes a careful step, barely a handful of inches, and eyes the step up into the main house distastefully. “Fuck,” he mutters.

There's a sigh, somewhere between resigned and irritated, and Asuma crouches down next to his knee. “Shit. They really don’t trust you to behave, do they?”

“Fucking good on them,” Hidan says, baring his teeth. “I would have fucking slaughtered them if they gave me one goddamn chance!”

Asuma snorts. “Like the dozen people you already killed?” he asks dryly, but doesn’t hesitate to fit one of the keys into the heavy bolt by Hidan's ankle. It snaps open, and Hidan nearly staggers as the weight that’s been pulling at him for a solid week now disappears. A hand on his hip catches him, and Asuma rises, scowling faintly.

“Ten,” Hidan corrects, and when Asuma glances at him he grins, a threat and a dare all in one. “Would have been more, but I got bored with the idiots in the village. Too much laziness rotted their fucking brains.”

Asuma hums, gaze flickering back towards the door as he lets Hidan go. “That jounin instructor of yours doesn’t seem like she’s rotted much,” he says, though he’s still frowning.

Scoffing, Hidan takes a step, testing his balance, and the relief of relatively free movement is enough to make his grin widen. “Yeah, Fumi’s the kind of fucker who’ll still be holding a kunai when she dies of old age. I think the headman was waiting for her to retire before he even fucking _thought_ about stopping the village from taking missions.”

“Over here.” Asuma steps past him, leading him down a short hall and out into a room with wide windows. Dangerous, Hidan thinks, but it’s more curious than derisive. Asuma's a top jounin, apparently; Hidan would think he knew better than to leave a vulnerability like that in his house. If Asuma notices the direction of Hidan's gaze, though, he ignores it, turning on the lights. “Let me see those cuffs. The lock looks complicated.”

“Fucking old geezer,” Hidan huffs, but he turns, leaning forward a little so that the light falls on the chains.

Asuma touches them lightly for a moment before the keys rattle again, and he asks, amused, “The Hokage or the Yu headman?”

It’s enough to make Hidan snort a laugh. “That white-haired old bastard, with the toads. Yu got him to make the seals. Apparently the Hokage sent him over special when they offered me up like a fucking prize.”

“Jiraiya of the Sannin,” Asuma concludes with a sigh. “No wonder. He was probably projecting.”

“What?” Hidan cranes his neck to look back at Asuma, but a hand between his shoulder blades keeps him still.

“One second,” Asuma says distractedly, and then mutters a quiet curse. “His teammate Orochimaru. Jiraiya was probably practicing on you what he’s always planned for Orochimaru if anyone catches him. Orochimaru killed children, though, not shinobi.”

Hidan's heard of Orochimaru—everyone has. For a while Fumi was actually sent out to hunt him down, on the off chance that Yu could catch and use him. Hidan mostly remembers because her genin team got stuck with one of the newer jounin, and the asshole was one of the first to accuse Hidan of killing the Chinoike Clan. Hidan had _extra_ fun taking him out.

“He’s a bastard,” Hidan says, and he’d think that even if the old geezer hadn’t spent a good twenty seconds leering at Fumi’s ass before she turned around and he blanched when he spotted the scars. Fumi hadn’t done anything to him for it, which is mildly disappointing, but Hidan's going to get his revenge one way or the other. Kicking his balls in for that can just be extra.

“He needs to get castrated,” Asuma says, deceptively mild, and makes a sound of disgust. “Can you even feel your fingers under these things?”

“Circulation is for pussies,” Hidan jokes, and Asuma snorts.

“Must be,” he agrees dryly. “The keys aren’t working, and if I try to pick the locks whatever Jiraiya hid in here is probably going to go off in my face.”

“Fuck.” Hidan squints, trying to remember how Jiraiya put them on, and he was drugged half out of his mind the whole time, but… “Maybe there’s an order to them?”

Asuma pauses, then sighs. “Probably,” he says. A series of clicks sound, and there's a pause, then another three clicks. A pause, and—

The cuffs slide off, hitting the floor with a loud crash, and Hidan lurches. Asuma grabs the back of his shirt, pulling him back upright, but Hidan is too distracted by the sudden easing of the weight, the freedom of movement. He groans, bringing his hands around to rub at them, and Jashin’s blessing means he heals almost immediately, but sore muscles are a bitch regardless.

“Better,” Asuma says, and offers Hidan a crooked smile as he drops back onto the couch, tucking an unlit cigarette in the corner of his mouth. He looks Hidan over, then groans faintly and tips his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Damn it. You're not even _twenty_.”

Hidan rolls his eyes, still rubbing the feeling back into his numb fingers. “Old enough to be a shinobi,” he says. “Old enough to do fucking anything for my village. And how old are you, old man? Thirties? Forties?”

“Twenty-five.” Asuma tips his head just enough to give him a look. “And I'm guessing your first choice wasn’t marriage, given the way they dragged you here.”

It’s not a question, but Hidan still grimaces, throwing himself down on the floor beside the low table. “Fuck that. It was go along with it or they’d do their best to kill me.” There was talk of binding him with seals and burying him fifty feet down, or building a cage and dropping him into one of the deeper ocean trenches. Hidan's not freaked out by much, but even his technique has limits, and the thought of dying like that—

Well. Even with the seals, even with the fact that he has to wait for permission to attack like some kind of trained dog, Konoha was still the far better option.

The line of Asuma's mouth is tight again, and there's a buried anger on his face that makes Hidan eye him a little warily. He’s pretty much under Asuma's control here, and it fucking _grates_ , but it’s still true. Asuma can do whatever the fuck he wants, and Hidan has a pretty piss-poor chance of stopping him. He’ll heal from it, but that doesn’t change that it hurts when it happens. Hidan took enough kunai to the chest and stomach when they were prodding at him in Yu; without a fight to get the adrenaline going, he’s definitely not a fan.

But then Asuma groans, reaching up to rub at the bridge of his nose, and he slumps a little further into the couch. “I'm too tired for this,” he decides, and grimaces. “What a thing to get back to.”

It takes a second, but Hidan remembers his words about the Guardians when he was facing the Hokage. Probably the Twelve Guardian Ninja, given the sash he’s wearing, and that at least means Hidan didn’t get stuck with some weak-ass pansy in this stupid marriage. He snorts, leaning back on one hand as he rubs the chafing around his ankles, and says, “Seems like bullshit that the Guardian and the traitor get the same shitty ending.”

There's a long pause, and then Asuma slides off the couch, dropping to one knee next to Hidan. Pulling a scrap of bandage out of his pocket, he reaches up, wiping at one of the places where the gag cut into Hidan's skin. The cloth comes away smeared with blood, and Asuma frowns at it for a second before he folds it over to a clean side and wipes at another spot.

“I wouldn’t call it an ending,” he says mildly, though his eyes are dark. “Weddings are supposed to be a new beginning, right?”

Hidan scoffs. “A shitty beginning, then,” he says. “Fucking Hokage. Fucking _Headman_.”

Asuma doesn’t try to argue that point. “The Hokage is likely hoping we make each other miserable,” he says, and the curve of his smile is wry. “If we’re too busy focusing on hating each other we can't make problems for him.”

“What the hell does he know,” Hidan says, and grins when Asuma glances at him with amusement. “I can fucking multitask.”

It earns him a laugh, and Asuma shakes his head, dropping the scrap of fabric to the side. “Multitask or make them suffer for it,” he says, “by turning things on their heads.”

Hidan blinks, frowns as he tries to parse that. “What?” he asks.

Asuma raises a brow at him. “We can make each other miserable and give them what they want,” he says. “ _Or_ we could make each other happy and get all of them sweating bullets, waiting for the other kunai to drop.”

For a long moment, Hidan stares at him. Then he laughs, loud and wild, throwing his head back as it shakes through him. Fuck, that’s _brilliant_ , and Hidan is absolutely sure that anyone from Yu who even glances their direction will fall for it.

“Works for me,” he says, and grins at Asuma, all teeth. “Pretend to be fine with this, you're saying? Get them all twitching?”

“More or less.” Asuma smiles, then pulls the unlit cigarette from his mouth and drops it on the table. “The Hokage won't believe I'm fine with it, but he definitely won't expect me to stop arguing. As long as we’re not fighting in public it should be enough to keep him off balance.”

Hidan snickers. “We’re stuck in this together,” he says easily. “It sounded like the liver-spotted old dickbag wasn’t giving you much of a choice, either.”

Asuma chuckles, and there's a touch of unholy amusement in his eyes that makes Hidan feel a little more inclined to like him. “That’s a decent description,” he says, though whether he means of the Hokage or the situation Hidan can't tell. He looks Hidan over again, gaze lingering on the torn skin around his mouth and his raw wrists, and he pushes to his feet. “I’ll get some gauze. I ordered diner on our way here, too, if you're hungry.”

“I could eat a fucking ox,” Hidan says, and the muscles in his legs are steady enough the he gets his feet under him and stands, grimacing as he stretches out his shoulders. “Fuck, not sleeping in those fucking cuffs is going to feel better than sex.”

Asuma snorts, though the glance he flicks at the discarded pile of metal and seals is dark. “I only have one bed,” he says. “Which is likely why the Hokage wanted you to stay with me. Just for the added torture.”

“Like any shinobi alive hasn’t shared a bed, or at least a bedroll,” Hidan scoffs.

“Fair point.” Asuma tips his head in agreement, then glances out the window. “Your guard—”

Rolling his eyes, Hidan steps past him, peering at a framed team photo on the closest table with mild interest. “Fumi hasn’t slept since she graduated to chuunin. You’ll just insult her by implying she’s human.”

“I’ll be sure not to make that mistake, then.” Asuma moves away, into the attached kitchen, and pulls open one of the cupboards. He makes a sound of victory, pulling down several bottles of sake, and says, “I don’t have anything strong, but if you want to spend tonight drinking away our sorrows so we can show up to the wedding hungover, I'm game.”

Petty as shit. Hidan's pretty sure he’s at least mildly in love. Laughing, he abandons the picture of a tiny, unbearded Asuma with his equally tiny teammates to snag one of the bottles. “Fuck yeah,” he says, and pops the cork out, raising it to Asuma in toast. “To shitty ideas.”

“The shittiest,” Asuma returns solemnly, and Hidan snickers as he downs the first swallow. It’s smooth, good-quality, which is almost a disappointment; this is the kind of thing that should go along with a night of terrible booze.

Well, Hidan thinks, at least there’s a lot of it, and the company could be a hell of a lot worse.


	2. Chapter 2

“Why you?” Hidan asks bluntly, halfway through his second bottle. “You piss the Hokage off more than most people or something?”

“Or something,” Asuma mutters, taking a swallow of his own. That’s a bad face, Hidan thinks, amused. Like Hidan just pissed in his beer or something. Before he can press, though, Asuma snorts and rubs at his eyes, looking tired. “Damn it. Almost a decade with the Guardians and this is the thanks I get. An arranged marriage.”

Almost a decade? That’s a hell of a long time to guard the Daimyō. Hidan raises his brows—he’s never been able to manage just one and it always pisses him off—and leans back in his chair, taking another swallow. It doesn’t burn nearly enough going down, but since it’s what they have Hidan isn't about to complain. “You must be tight with the Daimyō,” he says, and snickers. “Get him to annul it?”

Asuma snorts. “Konoha finds his wife’s cat for free whenever the damned thing runs away,” he says. “He’s not going to step in when he might lose that. Best hope for us is the Sandaime retires. Again. Maybe focuses on his actual family for a while.”

That sounded entirely bitter. Too bitter for any sort of sorrow-drowning to be happening, so Hidan raises his bottle like a toast and says, “Daimyō gets a say in the next Hokage, right? Maybe he’ll pick you.”

“Better me than another person from Team 7,” Asuma says, but at least this is amused instead of dark. “They're all cursed, I swear. If anyone ever offers you Team 7 for training or _anything_ , tell them to take a long walk through the Forest of Death.”

Hidan assumes that’s close to Yu’s _take a deep dive into a shallow spring_ , and laughs. “That Yondaime of yours on that team?” he asks. “’Cause his luck was particularly fucked.”

“Minato, and the Sandaime, and Tobirama, Jiraiya, Orochimaru, Tsunade, Kakashi…” Asuma trails off, shaking his head, and takes another swig from the bottle. “Stupid to keep training them when they all end up missing-nin or dead or insane.”

“Had a place that was cursed back in Yu,” Hidan muses, since they're on the subject. He’s not quite drunk, but there's a pleasant fuzziness to the edge of his thoughts that makes everything funnier. “The Valley of Hell. Everyone in Yu’s a fucking pansy, so they locked it up and said it was off-limits. Sounds like your Team 7 needs to have the same thing done to it.”

“Only the Hokage can take a genin team out of rotation,” Asuma says. “If I _were_ Hokage, I’d do it, but that’s never happening.”

“Why?” Hidan demands, laughs at the look Asuma gives him, and it’s not the sake talking. He grins at Asuma, full of lazy challenge, and hooks a thumb over his shoulder at the village outside the walls. “You a coward like the old bastard in Yu, think shinobi should be pretty and peaceful and fucking _boring_?”

Asuma raises a brow, meeting his gaze evenly. “No,” he says, taking another drink. “Shinobi are mercenaries. I know _exactly_ how the Daimyō thinks of us, and how the rest of the world sees us. That’s what we are. The things the Hokage wants to see—they're not there. There's no Will of Fire. Konoha’s just a band of mercenaries waiting for jobs to come in.”

Hidan smirks, upends the bottle. Swallows down the last few mouthfuls, and says, “I’ll drink to that.”

There's a shadow of a smile on Asuma's face as he watches Hidan, and he leans back in his chair. Takes another drink, and says with humor, “I think it’s possible the Hokage miscalculated here.”

With a laugh, Hidan pushes to his feet, not content to stay still. Wanders through the kitchen, poking at dusty appliances, and says, “How big a migraine you think we can give the dickbag?”

Asuma hums, like he’s actually considering the question. “What’s your view on sex with another man?” he asks, though the curve of his mouth says it’s a joke. “Public sex, specifically.”

“On his desk?” Hidan proposes, and Asuma laughs.

“That would do it,” he agrees, and tips his bottle over. Only a drop slides out, and he sighs, but it’s closer to content than it’s been all night. “Pride in the village,” he says, like he’s quoting someone. “I _have_ pride in my village. I just don’t make things up so we look better than the next band of killers.”

“Sounds like you _should_ be Hokage,” Hidan snickers. “Make up for Yu fucking off to play peacekeeper.”

Tipping his head back, Asuma studies the ceiling for a moment, then looks back at Hidan. Under the kitchen lights, his eyes are dark, a little heavy-lidded, and Hidan kind of likes the sprawl of his body, like some big cat at rest. Dangerous, the way a shinobi should be, even with two bottles of sake in him and no immediate threat.

“Be nice if the rest of the world could start taking Konoha seriously again,” he says, lazy, but there's an undercurrent to it.

Something dark and a little sharp, Hidan thinks, and it makes amusement curl through his chest. He taps his fingers across the edge of the cabinets, snickering to himself, and says, “Hard for a killer to be a killer and shit now, right? They call you a murderer from the time you're a little kid, then expect something to fucking change once you're a _trained_ murderer. Fucking ridiculous. Lord Jashin’s fucking right—pain’s goddamn beautiful, and surviving it’s even better. Going down fighting’s the best shit a shinobi can ask for.”

“Lord Jashin?” Asuma asks, raiding a brow.

Excitement and glee flicker in Hidan's chest, surging up through his blood. Not a non-believer, not _yet_. Uneducated. Hidan's meant to change that, though—Jashin let him survive the ritual to gain his favor for a reason. “The Lord of Destruction,” he says, grinning, and his necklace is gone but he traces the symbol in the air with a wide sweep of his hand. “Everyone’s scared of death, yeah? So Jashin’s priests kill them before they can meet death on their own. Save them from that fear. Jashin takes the death, takes their souls. It’s fucking _beautiful_. Death for a better purpose, isn't that what every fucking shinobi should aim for?”

Asuma looks at him for a long moment, silent, and then reaches out to catch hold of the last bottle, popping the cork out with a sharp twist of his hand. “That sounds like a shinobi’s kind of religion,” he says, thoughtful, and tips the bottle at Hidan. “That’s why you killed the Yu nin?”

Hidan makes a loud, derisive noise. “Fuck, that was just a benefit. I really fucking hate Yu. Like fuck I want to spend my life wandering around so tourists can see shinobi up close while they soak their asses in the springs.” He snickers, remembering the headman’s face when Fumi dragged Hidan in front of him, the way he reacted to Hidan's explanation, and it’s one of those images Hidan is going to cherish for the rest of his life. “Lord Jashin takes the deaths, and I’d be killing the asshats anyway. Might as well have some fun with it, right?”

“Fair enough.” Asuma watches him as he wanders close, still and steady, and he doesn’t believe yet, but Hidan can change that. He just needs some time. Needs to show Asuma how beautiful it is, the slaughter, the destruction, the survival of pain that kills his opponent. Konoha has control of Hidan's abilities right now, but someday they're going to let him off his leash.

“Wait until you see it,” he says with a laugh, and steals the sake right out of Asuma's hand, raising the bottle to his lips and swallowing a long pull. Smooth and sweet enough to make his head spin, and he laughs again, offers it up. Asuma takes it, holding his eyes as he swallows another mouthful, and a frisson of excitement twists down Hidan's spine. No outright rejection of Jashin, sharp contempt of the Hokage and the Headman and this whole shitty situation, and Hidan might have finally hit on at least a little luck when the Hokage decided to fuck with this man instead of his other jounin.

Asuma hums, passing the bottle back, and he’s still sprawled out, watching. Always watching, but it’s not the way Hidan is used to from Yu, isn't touched with that same furious, derisive fear the people there always showed around him. This is lazily assessing, thoughtful, and fuck but Hidan prefers it. Didn’t fucking care about how Yu saw him, but—this is good. _Really_ fucking good.

Hidan's never been one to resist sudden impulses, even makes a habit of indulging them. So when the idea strikes, he doesn’t hesitate, just swings his leg over Asuma's thighs and drops down to sit on his knees. Leaning forward, he lifts the sake to Asuma's lips, and his grin is a dare, waiting for a response.

Holding his gaze, Asuma catches his wrist, steadies his hand, and takes another swallow. Pulls the sake away just a little as one hand curls over Hidan's thigh, and says, “Last night to pick somebody else.”

Hidan scoffs, entirely aware of what he means. “Like Fumi wouldn’t fucking jump me the minute I step out of the damn house,” he says. “Unless you’ve got a rent boy hidden somewhere in the house that you're sitting on.”

“That would be a dusty rent boy, since I just got back from the capital today,” Asuma says dryly. His fingers tighten faintly on Hidan's skin, pulling him forward an inch, and he says with amusement, “The Hokage has never met you when you could talk, has he?”

Hidan grins right back at him, full of teeth. “Yu stuck that fucking gag on me first thing. Seemed to think I’d offend some delicate fucking sensibilities if they didn’t.”

Asuma laughs, catches the sake bottle and touches it to Hidan's lips. “Good,” he says, holding Hidan's gaze as he tips the bottle up. His hand leaves Hidan's thigh, rising to press against his jaw as he drinks, and his thumb brushes the mark the gag left. Still not healed, and something about that sparks a thought, but Hidan's too tipsy to dwell on it. Dismisses it instead, and turns his head, catching Asuma's thumb between his teeth.

“This is going to be the most terrible damn wedding in history,” Asuma says, but he’s smirking, and between the beard and the hot, lazy look in his eyes, it’s putting Hidan in mind of some of the better porn he’s seen. He grins, wraps his tongue around Asuma's finger, and feels a thrill of satisfaction when his breath catches. Pulls away and laughs, because this is fucking _stupid_ , but Hidan wants to fuck this man. Wants to do it before he’s _told_ to do it and the order takes away some of the pleasure of it.

“Wanna practice for our wedding night?” he asks, and takes another swig from the bottle, then leans forward, draping his arms over Asuma's shoulders. “Right now we’d just be fucking because were both fucking hot and horny. No bullcrap spouse shit.”

“I like how you think.” Asuma's smirking when he leans up, catches Hidan's mouth as he slides a hand into his hair, and Hidan moans as he immediately slips his tongue into Hidan's mouth, chasing the taste of the sake. Hot and deep, and his mouth is raw from the gag but fuck, it’s still good. Testing, rather than awkward, and Hidan's tumbled his share of smug pricks, but Asuma actually knows how to kiss _well_ , not an appetizer but a main event. Takes control, takes Hidan's mouth until the curl of his tongue and the tease of his lips is all Hidan can think of, and doesn’t rush it. Impatience is something Hidan is used to, wanting to bolt through all the foreplay or just skip it entirely, but Asuma's good enough to keep his attention even without a hand on his cock.

“Fuck,” he breathes when they finally separate, and licks his lips, grinning when Asuma's eyes follow the swipe of his tongue. “Done that before, huh?”

“If you think I'm going into this as a virgin, I have some bad news for you,” Asuma says, dust-dry, and slides a thumb over the cut edging Hidan's mouth, something dark flickering in his eyes. “We might be too drunk for this.”

“Worried about drink dick?” Hidan laughs, and presses a hand up between Asuma's legs, rubbing at his half-hard cock through his uniform pants. He lets the sake bottle fall, clattering to the floor, and then leans in, wrapping an arm around the back of Asuma's neck. Dangerous, and he could snap his spine like this even without his weapons or rituals. It’s a thrilling thought, makes his grin widen, and Asuma snorts softly, fingers curling in Hidan's hair like an answering threat.

“I’d pick you up in a bar,” he muses, lightly pressing his thumb to Hidan's vertebrae. “If I’d seen you in the capital, I’d definitely take you home for the night.”

Hidan snickers, tips his head back into the touch. “Yeah?” he asks smugly.

“Yeah,” Asuma agrees, mild and amused. “I’d want to figure out if I could screw you quiet.”

With a loud laugh, Hidan kisses him again, bites at his lip until he opens his mouth and then teases their tongues together, humming into it as Asuma's beard tickles across his chin. “You can fucking _try_ ,” he challenges, and Asuma doesn’t pause, drags him in again and kisses him. Not harder, but deeper, and Hidan wants to huff in irritation, because goading is supposed to fucking _do something_ , but—

Asuma's hands hitch him forward on his lap, pull him in until he’s sitting right on top of that hardening cock, and Hidan moans, grinds down against it. He’s getting hard, too, because Asuma's pretty damn close to what he’d pick up at a bar as well, though the beard’s something new. Hot, and Hidan's not too picky but he likes fucking attractive people. Likes big and dark, too, and Asuma's definitely that.

“Wanna fuck right here?” he asks slyly, dragging his mouth up to nip at Asuma's earlobe. “Hard and dirty?” Nothing like a wedding night’s supposed to be, because this isn't one at all—it’s spiteful and one last _because I can and not because you told me to_ before they're tied together by their villages.

Asuma chuckles, rolling his hips into Hidan's in a long, slow grind that makes Hidan hiss out a curse. “You really do have good ideas,” he says, and drags Hidan into another deep kiss. Hidan laughs against his mouth, gets a hand between them to undo Asuma's pants. There's a hand on his ass, fingers sliding under the waistband of his pants, and Hidan hums into the kiss, pleased, as the touch wanders. He’s got a great ass, after all, and it’s nice that someone clearly enjoys the feel of it.

For his part, Asuma's got a nice dick, and Hidan skims his fingers over it, teasing, as he works Asuma's pants down. Stopping to take their clothes off would probably be easier, but like fuck Hidan is going to take the easy way when he could just keep kissing Asuma. Getting up means he has to stop rubbing against Asuma's thigh, or give up the grip on his cock, the little hitching breathes it get gets him when he skims his nails across sensitive veins. Besides, Asuma's getting Hidan’s pants open too, tugging them down hard with a hiss of frustration, and when Hidan snickers Asuma nips his lower lip, steals the yelp it earns with a kiss. He drags the fabric down Hidan's thighs, and Hidan pulls his legs up, leaning back into Asuma's suddenly tight grip as he braces one foot on the seat of the chair. Draws his other knee up, sliding it free of the pant leg, and pulls his leg right up against his chest to get his foot free.

“Damn,” Asuma says when Hidan rocks forward again, bracing his knees on the chair on either side of Asuma's hips. “You're flexible.”

Hidan laughs, shoving his pants off and letting them drop to the floor. “What, you want to bend me in half?” he asks. “Because I can do that, yeah.”

“Hmm.” Asuma's hand goes back to his hip, and his other slides under Hidan's shirt, splays across his stomach as he drags it down. “That was where my mind went, yeah. A couple other places, too.”

“Places or positions?” Hidan taunts, and then groans when a finger traces down his cock, slides over his balls and then down further. Lifting his hips to give Asuma room, he rocks forward, bracing himself on the back of the chair, and hisses when Asuma's lips press to his chest. A brief kiss to the skin there and he drags his mouth over, catches a nipple between his teeth, and Hidan's breath hitches. He moans, rocks back into the finger pressing at his hole and then forward into the heat of Asuma's mouth as he laves at Hidan's chest, and manages to scrape together enough higher brain function to say, “Like shit you're taking me dry, asshole. Lube or we’re fucking rubbing each other off like horny teenagers.”

Asuma's mouth leaves his nipple, slides down to lightly scrape his teeth underneath Hidan's pecs. It makes Hidan twitch, not expecting it, and he can feel Asuma's smug smile against his skin. “I wasn’t planning on it,” Asuma says, and his hand leaves Hidan's hip, fumbles under his thigh for a moment. Weapons pouch, Hidan thinks, and in the name of lube he’s more than happy to shift his weight, letting Asuma hitch his knee forward. A lot of shinobi carry some kind of oil for getting out of chains and shit—Hidan did, too, but the old bastard Jiraiya snatched it with the rest of his things.

“Fucking pick up the pace,” he goads, rocking forward into the hard line of Asuma's cock. “I haven’t had sex in fucking _months_ and I want to come.”

“Coming is only half the fun,” Asuma retorts, but there's a pause, and then slick fingers slide up the back of Hidan's thigh. Two press against his hole, and Hidan pushes back to take them, glad Asuma's smart enough to give him two right off the bat. It’s a sharper stretch, sinks deeper into his gut as he eases back, and he curses on a breath, rocks his hips carefully.

With a hum, Asuma nips at his collarbone, presses his fingers in as deep as they’ll go and curves them lightly. It sparks through Hidan's nerves, shivers up his spine, and when he groans Asuma kisses his throat and scissors his fingers open, curling and pressing and stretching. Hidan hisses, but he rolls his hips back into it, takes the coiling heat that each motion spreads up his nerves. Another pause, and then there's a third finger sliding in, dragging a curse from Hidan's throat. More lube, too, and Asuma's fingers go deeper, twist and spread, and Hidan had forgotten how fucking good this felt. He can't get deep enough on his own, can't reach the places Asuma is, and the pleasure vibrates through him like live wires,

A rough breath against his throat and then Asuma is drawing back, casting a glance up at Hidan, dark eyes and flushed cheeks and that fucking _mouth._ He smirks, curls his fingers and drags them down over slicked muscle, and Hidan shouts, back arching as heat crashes through him, spiraling up his spine. A long drag up and Asuma does it again, hard and quick enough that Hidan can't even catch his breath. He gasps, grinds down, desperate to get another dose of that feeling, but Asuma's fingers are drawing out, retreating. With a curse, he grabs for Asuma's wrist, but slick fingers tangle with his, pull his hand forward. Asuma grunts, head tipping back, and Hidan kisses him hard, deep, even as he feels the broad head of a cock sliding up between his legs.

“Shit,” he breathes, closing his eyes as it catches on the edge of his hole once, then again. Deliberate, by the smug slant of Asuma's mouth, and Hidan kisses him again because it’s either that or stab him with the chopsticks from dinner. “Fucking _give it to me_ already, you shithead, or I'm going to rip it off!”

“Is that how you always ask for things?” Asuma asks, but he wraps their tangled fingers around his cock, slicking it, and Hidan laughs breathlessly, smears the lube across soft-hard skin and up under the head. He makes sure to press a thumb against the knot of nerves there, and gets a short, rough sound against his lips, fingers going tight on his hip.

“Yeah, it is,” Hidan answers smugly, and shoves Asuma's hand away, guiding his cock back and easing down. It’s a different kind of stretch, more solid, and he groans as he takes it, rocking back and down. Asuma helps even as he curses, pulls Hidan down as he thrusts up, slow and steady, and Hidan grips Asuma's neck, trying to breathe through the pressure.

The invasion makes his stomach twist, too much without more slick, more prep, but he doesn’t stop, takes Asuma's cock all the way to the hilt and then settles there, closing his eyes. His inner muscles are twitching, clenching, trying to adjust when he hasn’t had anything but fingers inside him since his last mission out of Yu, and he can feel the steel-stiff tension in Asuma's muscles as he holds still, controls himself. Stupid, the only kind of noble gesture Hidan will ever not scoff at, but appreciated, because the twist of it is all Hidan can focus on right now. Asuma's cock is deep, hard, and Hidan feels split open on it, has to tip his head back as he grips broad shoulders tight. On the edge of overwhelming, and he shivers, groans, clenches his legs around Asuma's hips.

An arm curls around his waist, pulling him closer, and Asuma tugs him down into a kiss, smooths a hand over the small of his back. Doesn’t ask if Hidan's okay, thankfully, but rocks up once, slow and testing, and Hidan moans into his mouth, thrusts back into it and shivers as the drag of that big cock sends a sunburst of pleasure through his stomach. Asuma thrusts again, harder this time, faster and deeper, and the feeling of it shatters through Hidan as he pulls up, drops back, takes Asuma's cock all the way and grinds into his lap, moaning at the lightning-sharp shiver that washes through him.

“Fuck,” Asuma breathes, and the curse feels like a victory, makes Hidan laugh, only to lose his breath as Asuma thrusts up, drags him down into it, and then keeps going with hard, deep strokes. Hidan can hardly even meet them, off balance as he tries to rock down, but Asuma's got both hands tight around his waist, hauling him back into each thrust, shoving in to the hilt and drawing back, then driving in again. Each thrust is a flare of nova-bright pleasure, makes Hidan's vision swim with stars, coils through him with sharp edges and tension and _need_ , and he crushes his mouth to Asuma's. Messy, sloppy, off-center, but Asuma kisses him back with teeth and tongue and fucks up into him, swallows Hidan's noises even as he tries his best to force new ones out of Hidan's throat.

Shoving a hand down between them, Hidan gets a hold of his cock, rides each hard thrust as best he can as he strokes his shaft, grip tight, twisting his hand hard on the upstroke. Gasps into Asuma's mouth as his cock slides all the way in, almost too deep, and his knee slips off the chair. He jolts, catches himself, but Asuma's next thrust goes even deeper, crashes through him like a blow, and Hidan shouts, feeling it reverberate through him. The hot-sharp wave twists right into jagged-edged heat, and Hidan comes with a cry, shaking through the numbing pleasure as Asuma kisses him, deep and relentless. His thrusts don’t let up, either, get more desperate as Hidan's body clamps down around him, and with a guttural sound he drags Hidan's hips down, drives up into him with short, sharp strokes, and then arches up into his weight, shuddering.

Hidan can feel his release, wet and slick and hot, and groans. Asuma makes a low, soothing sound, tips his head to kiss the raw skin at the edge of Hidan's mouth, and then slants their mouths together again, tangling their tongues. It’s a breathless kiss, lazy, and Hidan leans into it with a hum of pleasure, then lets his head drop onto Asuma's collarbone.

“Shit,” he says, and laughs roughly, gripping Asuma's shoulders. “Fucking _damn_.”

“That’s positive, right?” Asuma traces fingers up his spine, tipping his head back like he’s trying to catch his breath.

“It sure as fuck is positive,” Hidan agrees, and lets himself fall forward, sprawling on Asuma's broad chest. He’s still wearing his uniform shirt, and those weapons pouches are rubbing aggravatingly at the insides of Hidan's bare thighs, but Hidan doesn’t want to move right now. He’s going to have to get off Asuma's cock eventually, but for now, this is perfectly fine. Closes his eyes, breathing out, and then realizes the missed opportunity. “Fuck, I meant to give you a big-ass hickey.”

Asuma snorts, and a moment later a hand cups Hidan's cheek, guides his mouth to Asuma's throat where the tilt of his head leaves it bare. “I don’t bruise easy,” he says lazily. “You’ll have to put some effort into it.”

Hidan blinks, raising his brows at him, and then snickers. “Proof we’re getting along?” he laughs, and catches some of that dark skin between his teeth. Sucks at it hard, rolling it between his teeth before biting down with just enough force to leave a mark, and moans when Asuma's cock twitches inside of him.

The hand on his back curls, fingers pressing into his skin. Asuma's breath is unsteady the next time it comes, and he nudges at Hidan's side. “Bed for the second round,” he says. “I think the chair’s about to break.”

It’s definitely a lot wobblier than it was when Asuma first sat down, Hidan thinks, and laughs, pulling away. He gets his knee under himself, braces a foot on the floor, and carefully eases off his soft cock as he stands. Sore, but only to the degree he expected, and it’s one of those fun kinds of pain. With a pleased groan, he stretches out his back, then snickers when Asuma wraps his arms around him and kisses the back of his neck.

“Sure you want to try for another round?” he taunts. “That drink dick might still catch up with you.”

“Then you can just fuck me until I've recovered,” Asuma says, and a hand cups Hidan's spent cock, rubs a few drops of come into the shaft. Hidan hisses at the prickles of oversensitivity, but doesn’t pull away, and thick fingers stroke him like Asuma's trying to get him hard again already. Shuddering, Hidan loops an arm around Asuma's neck, pulls him down further, and Asuma kisses him under the ear, smooths his hand up the inside of Hidan's thigh and drags his fingers through the cum that’s sliding down his legs.

“Fuck,” Hidan laughs, breathless. “If I can't fucking walk to the wedding you’re going to be the one who has to carry me there, asshole.”

“Bridal style,” Asuma agrees easily, and the curve of his smirk makes Hidan want to kiss him. “Like a pretty princess.”

Hidan snickers, turns his head to slant a kiss over the side of Asuma's mouth, and his beard scratches across Hidan's skin. It makes Hidan want to know how the insides of his thighs would feel with beard burn. He’s never had a chance to find out before, but he’s always been curious. “I’ll be the prettiest fucking princess if it’ll turn that old shitbag’s brain inside out,” he promises, and then hisses when two fingers slide into him, rubbing lightly like Asuma enjoys feeling him well-used. That’s one kink Hidan can get behind, since it feels _fucking fantastic_.

“Deal,” Asuma murmurs into his ear, and his teeth catch Hidan's skin right along his jaw, where he’s definitely not going to be able to hide a hickey. Not that Hidan _would_ , but it still makes him snicker. There's going to be no fucking doubt at all tomorrow about their ability to get along, and he’s looking forward to watching people twitch.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you follow me on Tumblr and have been wondering about the recent disappearance of my blog, it got caught up in Tumblr's new purge of blogs with lots of outside links. The staff has been contacted, and hopefully it will be restored, but since they likely have a backlog of such requests it might take a week or two. Sorry for any worries!
> 
>  **A warning for this chapter:** Hidan and his teacher have a complicated relationship, and she's very much a ruthless, the-ends-justify-the-means type of person. She explicitly participates in Hidan being sealed even though it's painful for him, just in case that's a trigger for anyone.

Hidan wakes to fingers tracing across his shoulder blades, a thumb rubbing circles against his spine, and a hard arm beneath his head. Automatically, he tenses, but there's no reaction from his bedmate, no falter in that lazy touch, and he lets out a breath on a laugh and lifts his head. Asuma eyes him in return, gaze heavy-lidded and languid, and Hidan pushes up on one elbow, leans over him.

“Didn’t run screaming yet?” he asks, grinning.

“Your morning breath’s not that bad,” Asuma retorts, and Hidan snickers. He gets a leg over Asuma's hips, slides on top of him and lets the sheet fall away, and Asuma's hands immediately drop to his hips, slide down his thighs. Hidan shivers, because there's _definitely_ beard burn between his legs, red and oversensitive, and he’s starting to see the benefits of the whole facial hair thing.

With a hum, Asuma relaxes back into the pillows, watching Hidan with a half-smirk. “Now this makes waking up better,” he says, and spreads his legs a little, tipping his hips up. There's a hard cock sliding up the crack of Hidan's ass, and he laughs, shifts back to press against it.

“Been up for a while?” he asks, and can feel the hitch in Asuma's breath, the way his fingers tighten as his shaft slips between Hidan's ass cheeks.

“Mm.” Asuma reaches up, slides a hand under Hidan's hardening cock to cup his balls, and Hidan moans. “Morning sex is good.”

Hidan's never had a particular attachment to the idea one way or the other, but like this, with sunlight slanting through the window and a lazy sort of heat in his bones as sleep slips away, he’s starting to see the appeal. With a laugh, he leans down, bracing his hands on the headboard as he hovers over Asuma, and asks tauntingly, “So how bad’s the morning breath have to be to scare you away?”

“Worse than yours.” Asuma smirks at him, hooks a hand behind his head, and pulls him down into a kiss, tongue sliding deep into Hidan's mouth even as his other hand curls around his ass, squeezing firmly. There's a twist of muscle, and Hidan laughs against Asuma's mouth as he goes spilling over onto his back, Asuma sliding between his legs. He loops a leg behind Asuma's thighs, pulls him closer as he gets his hands on Asuma's chest and twists his fingers into the dark hair, and Asuma makes a low, interested sound. He drags his hands up Hidan's sides, then back down, heavy enough to feel, and it washes heat through Hidan's skin. He shivers, and wherever this goes he’s _very_ into it, because Asuma proved last night that he’s a creative bastard with a fondness for making Hidan incoherent. Normally Hidan might protest, but it’s fucking _fun_ , and Asuma's just rough enough—

Someone knocks on the door, hard enough to make the sound echo through the house.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Hidan says viciously, and grabs Asuma's shoulders. “Don’t fucking _stop_ , you asshole—”

Asuma groans in disgust, but kisses him again, quick and hard, then sits back. “It’s Anko,” he says, like that’s supposed to mean something. “If I don’t answer the door she’ll come in and start critiquing our technique.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Hidan mutters unhappily, but he unwinds his limbs from Asuma's and lets him slide off the bed. Spectators aren’t exactly a turn-off, but _unaffected_ spectators are a waste of effort. They should either be horrified or into it, or what’s the point?

Asuma's grimace says he agrees with the feeling, at the very least. He grabs his pants off the floor, pulling them on, and doesn’t even button them before he’s ducking into the hall, calling, “Just a minute, Anko!”

Hidan lies where he is for a moment, sprawled over the bed, and that low thrum of arousal in his stomach isn't going anywhere but he somehow doubts they're going to get back to the sex part anytime soon. But—

 _Fuck_ , he thinks, because this isn't a one-night stand in a village he’ll be leaving in the morning. Tonight he’s going to be back here, _married_ , with every chance to continue this. Fucking _weird._

It’s enough to kill at least a little of the arousal, though, and Hidan mutters a curse and sits up. He can hear voices from the front of the house, a cheerful female voice and Asuma's deeper one, and he rakes a hand through his hair to push it out of his face, then gets up. His clothes are still scattered around the kitchen, where they got dumped last night, and Hidan's feeing a little too lazy to go and get them. It’s easier to raid Asuma's closet, and Asuma's got a good six inches on him and a lot of shoulder width, but his shirts fit well enough. Hidan debates the pants for a moment, but they're basic uniform shit, and Hidan likes his own better.

“—you're a jerk!” the woman is insisting when Hidan steps out into the hall, but she sounds cheerful about it.

Asuma sighs, loud enough for Hidan to hear it from where he is. “Anko, I wasn’t keeping it from you. I only found out last night.”

There's a startled pause, and Hidan snickers, amused by the image of a whole host of Asuma's friends storming the Hokage's office. It probably won't happen—Kage don’t tend to look favorably on that much unrest, and jounin are generally smart enough to keep their necks off the chopping block—but it’s a fun image. Sliding around the edge of the kitchen door, he grabs his pants and pulls them up, considers his hard cock for a moment, and then huffs and buttons them anyway. Getting himself off is fun enough, but not nearly as much when he’s got someone who could be helping but isn't. Not that Asuma seemed like he _wanted_ to leave the bed, which makes Hidan really fucking smug.

When he tunes back in to the conversation from the door, Anko's voice is twice as loud. “—told me to make sure you have witnesses, but I’m gonna find his sake and—”

“Anko,” Asuma says softly. “I agreed.”

A loud huff. “You shouldn’t have, Asuma, and it’s _stupid_ ,” Anko says, and she sounds like she’s bristling.

Asuma hums, somewhere between agreement and simple acknowledgement, and then says, “Did he say anything about how many witnesses?”

There's a long moment of suspicious silence, and then Anko makes a rude sound. “Three,” she says. “At the ceremony. But if you want more—”

“Three will be fine,” Asuma interrupts, and then his voice takes on a sardonic edge. “I'm guessing I don’t need to worry about family representatives?”

Anko's rude sound is louder this time. “Want me to tell someone?” she asks, and there's a touch of almost vicious cheer to it that makes Hidan look up in interest. “Or is this a secret?”

Asuma doesn’t even pause. “If you want to tell someone, go ahead,” he says. “But give me time to tell my witnesses first. Some people should hear it from me.”

“Gotcha,” Anko agrees brightly, and then there are quick steps. “Hello?” she calls. “Mister prisoner-husband, are you here?”

Fuck, but she sounds interesting. Hidan steps around the edge of the kitchen, and almost collides with a blur of tan trench coat and violet hair. There's a yelp, a twist that’s as fast as one of Hidan's, and then suddenly a face right up in his.

She’s _tiny_ , is Hidan's first thought. Probably older than him by at least a year or two, with sharp eyes and a wide grin that’s sharp enough to draw blood. Small hands grab his shirt, and she lifts up on her toes, squinting at him.

“Hi!” she says cheerfully. “I'm Anko, and you're hot!”

Hidan laughs, looks her over in a long sweep. Tits out, and he can image that’s a big fucking distraction for any of the dumber guys facing her in a fight. “I'm Hidan,” he answers, grinning back. “And so are you.”

Anko skips back a step, adjusts her coat, and beams. “I am,” she agrees, and rounds on Asuma in a whirl. “Asuma, you didn’t say he was hot!”

“I didn’t say anything about him,” Asuma says, but the slant of his mouth is amused as he leans against the wall, arms folded over his chest. “You didn’t give me the chance, Anko.”

“So fucking rude,” Hidan complains, and gives Anko a smirk, stabbing a finger Asuma's direction. “See what I have to fucking deal with? All I want’s to kill assholes and I get this instead.”

Anko laughs over the sound of Asuma's sigh, and she grabs Hidan's hand, pulls him down until his throat is at eye-level. Just for a moment, her smile goes flat, becomes something angry as she looks, and Hidan belatedly remembers the collars of seals inked across his throat, marching down his neck to spread over his heart. he stiffens, but before he can pull away Anko lets him go.

“Some people are bastards,” she says, looking up to meet his eyes. Reaches up, turns, tugs the collar of her coat down—

A circular seal glows stark against her skin, about the size of Hidan's spread hand. He’s not much for seals—too fussy, too involved, and Hidan doesn’t have any patience for that shit—but the marks for containment are familiar enough. _Two_ seals, then, with one containing the other, and Hidan's willing to bet she didn’t ask for the first one.

“Fuckers,” he says viciously, meeting brown eyes, and Anko laughs like it’s a weapon, cutting and full of blood.

“You should come train with me,” she says brightly, resettling her coat and bouncing back a step. “I like training without chakra, and it gets boring when people start screaming ten minutes in.”

“Fuck yeah,” Hidan agrees, brightening. Everyone in Yu was a pansy about training with him. Well, except for Fumi, but she was more likely to kick him out on his ass than actually train with him after she retired. “I’ll kick your ass whenever you want.”

With a giggle, Anko reaches up to pat his cheek. “You're so optimistic, it’s cute!” is her verdict, but before Hidan can do more than splutter in offense she’s bouncing away coming to a short stop in front of Asuma. “Want me to round some people up for you?” she asks.

Asuma's dark eyes flicker from her to Hidan and back, and he weighs his response for a moment, then shakes his head. “Thanks, Anko, but I should talk to them myself.”

“All right.” Anko leans up, plants a loud kiss on his cheek, and then is gone in a near-blur. Hidan hears the door slam behind her, and he snickers, raising his brows at Asuma.

“She’s got you by the dick, doesn’t she?” he asks, gleeful about the image.

Asuma grimaces. “Never literally,” he says. “I think she has he sights set on someone more prone to wanton destruction than me.”

Well, Hidan can't blame her for that. He laughs, but before he can say anything there's a hand curling around the back of his neck, pulling him in as Asuma leans down, and Hidan takes the slow, lazy kiss gladly, loops an arm around Asuma's neck to hold him there. It’s not hungry, though, feels faintly distracted, and when Hidan pulls back he asks, “You’ve got shit to do?”

Asuma's smile is entirely unamused. “I need three witnesses at the wedding, and I've been ordered to find them. It might take me an hour or two.”

And the odds that Hidan's guard are going to let him tag along are slim to none. He pulls a face, and Asuma's next breath is heavy with amusement. “Exactly,” he agrees, but he steps back, looks Hidan over for a long moment, and then says, “I’ll try to make it short, and I’ll get someone to bring you breakfast while I'm out.”

Food’s a decent bribe, Hidan supposes. “Hurry the fuck up,” he says anyway. “You started something and you’d better fucking finish it.”

Asuma's gaze flickers down to his crotch, and his mouth takes on an amused slant. “I did, didn’t I,” he muses, teasing, and when Hidan opens his mouth to call him a bitch Asuma kisses him again. It’s harder, hotter this time, and Hidan loses all of his breath on a moan. Asuma pushes in, turns them, presses Hidan up against the wall, and there’s a careful distance between their dicks but Hidan's half-tempted to drop to his knees, see if he can't make Asuma as incoherent and wasted on sex as Asuma managed to make him last night.

There's no chance to decide, though; with a ragged breath, Asuma pulls away, turns, and says, “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“I'm gonna jerk off on your bed with my fingers up my ass,” Hidan informs him, for the sake of transparency. He can see Asuma's breath hitch, his fingers twitch, and he turns to give Hidan a look that’s all heat and want.

“Forty-five minutes,” he promises, and heads for the door. It falls shut behind him, softly, like he’s pointedly not hurrying, but that’s a tell all on its own.

Still leaning back against the wall, Hidan laughs, drags a hand down his chest. Thinks about getting himself off right here, or waiting, only starting when Asuma's close enough to catch him in the middle of things—

The door falls shut for a second time, and Hidan raises his head, eyes narrowed. Footsteps, and not Asuma's—Hidan can see his shadow through the window, passing the front of the house. Lust curdles into something darker, angrier, and Hidan pushes upright, hands curling into fists as Fumi appears around the corner, flanked by a Yu shinobi on either side.

“What,” he bites out, viciously amused, “were you lurking around the corner and waiting for him to leave?”

 _Yes_ , Fumi answers, straightforward as fucking always. She looks him over, expressionless, and even Hidan can't read anything in her face as she lingers on the hickey on his jaw, Asuma's shirt, the beginnings of a bruise at the bend of his elbow where Asuma pinned his arms above his head. When her gaze flickers back to Hidan's, her eyes are ever so faintly narrowed, her scarred mouth just a little tighter than normal, but she doesn’t address it. Tips one hand instead, not a word-sign but a prompt for the shinobi with her, and they move forward.

The rattle of chains makes Hidan bristle.

“Fuck you,” he snarls at Fumi, and takes a step back. Judges the distance to the nearest window, even though all three of the bastards have the keys to his seals and can drop him like a poisoned hog the second they think hard about it. The two former ANBU Hidan could probably kill before they could get to the right seals, but Fumi’s already fucking proved that retirement hasn’t made her any less dangerous, and Hidan's never managed to beat her before. “Get the hell away from me—”

 _There is one more ritual before the wedding,_ Fumi tells him. Her hands pause, held in midair for a long moment, and Hidan can't tell if it’s hesitation or if she’s making sure he’s paying attention. _If you resist, it will take longer._

“Like hell I'm not going to resist!” Hidan snarls at her, and it’s one mad burst of impulse, but the bastard on the left has that fucking gag in his hands, freshly washed and shined, and Hidan will be dead and buried before he sits down and lets them shove it between his jaws. He surges forward, and there's nothing close at hand that he can use as a weapon, but he slashes up, out, hand like a blade. It catches the man with the gag in his chest, hard enough to throw him back as all the breath explodes from his lungs, and Hidan leaps over him. The ceiling’s too low, scrapes his back, and he lands hard, curses, spins. The other guard drives a short sword at his head, the move tight and perfect, but Hidan turns past it, lets the blade skim his shoulder as he kicks hard. She drops, slides under it—

Light. Light _burning_ through the hallway, like a sun beaten out into a blade. There's the barest touch to the back of Hidan's head, but he freezes instantly, one hand halfway to the kunoichi’s throat. Hairs singe under the heat, the light, and Hidan sets his teeth and _snarls_.

When he turns, slowly and carefully enough that it won't be taken for a threat, Fumi meets his eyes, steady and set. Golden-white light glows like a crown around her head, around her hands, extends out, and she’s poised to drive the blade of it right through Hidan's spine.

Without pause, the kunoichi sheathes her sword, grabs Hidan's hands and wrenches them up behind his back. The snap of the cuffs closing makes Hidan bare his teeth, but he doesn’t let his eyes shift from Fumi.

“Ironic,” the man wheezes, and there's the sound of him staggering to his feet. “The Queen of Heaven was the one to train the heretic.”

The lines around Fumi’s mouth deepen—anger, touched with something like stubbornness, but there isn't so much as a hint of regret in her eyes and that’s what Hidan cares about.

“You're a fucking bitch,” he spits at his teacher. “Why the hell couldn’t you just let me get the fuck out of Yu? You're a goddamned shinobi, you should be fucking turning on _them_ —”

A hand grabs his hair, wrenches his head back. Hidan snarls, jerks back sharply, but the man dodges the headbutt, hauls him back. The gag clamps over his mouth even as he twists, wrenches, tries to throw the asshole off, but there's no escaping. The straps tighten sharply, hauling it past his lips, and Hidan screams in fury as he thrashes, but they force him down to his knees regardless.

The light fades, inch by inch, and as they chain his feet Fumi crouches down in front of him. She still hasn’t looked away, those pale eyes holding Hidan's as she reaches out. Her hand curls around the back of his head, above the gag’s straps, and for once it’s not a thump. Fumi just breathes out, then raises a hand.

 _Go_ , she tells the two other shinobi, and they file past her without pause, heading for the door. It opens, but doesn’t fall shut again, and Fumi breathes out. Hidan tries to put every ounce of hatred he’s feeling right now into his glare, but Fumi meets it, holds it.

 _I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy,_ she signs, and it’s so fucking _stupid_ that Hidan laughs through the gag, furious and incredulous.

But Fumi doesn’t waver. She flicks his forehead, barely hard enough to sting, and says, _If I thought for one minute that your fate as a missing-nin would have been a kinder one, I would have stayed in my house and ignored the headman knocking._

Hidan can't even begin to form words, but he jerks, growls. Fumi lets him, doesn’t even try to move as he shoves a shoulder at her. Catches it instead, nudging him back, and it’s fucking _aggravating_. He wants to get his hands around her fuckin throat—

 _I'm not sorry,_ Fumi tells him, as if he can't read that on her face as easily as looking. Fumi doesn’t do regret. _You're a shinobi. Here you can be one. Regardless of everything else, at least you're alive and fighting_.

Hidan hates her. He hates her, hates her, _hates her_. Snarling impotently, he tries to fall on her, tries to at least _hit_ her, but she pushes him back like he’s still a genin, drops a fist on top of his head, but it’s a pussy’s hit, too light to do anything. Just makes him pause for half a second, and Fumi cups a hand under his chin, tips his head up. Still that set expression, unwavering, because Fumi’s never hesitated once she’s made a decision.

 _We’re shinobi, Hidan_ , she tells him, and it’s her old sign for his name, shorthand and familiar— _rook_ with the sign for _loud_ , and Hidan wants to break her fucking hands. _We’re shinobi. And my mission is to make sure you survive._

She rises to her feet, hooking a hand beneath his elbow. Hauls him up just as footsteps sound, turns—

There's a man in the doorway, an old fucker with an arm in a sling and bandages wrapped around one half of his face. His gaze slides from Fumi to Hidan, lingers for a moment, and drifts back.

“The Queen of Heaven, was it?” he asks, and it would be idle except for the sharpness on his face, as dangerous as a bare knife.

Fumi tips her chin up, hand tight around Hidan's elbow. She doesn’t move, doesn’t nod or make any sign of acknowledgement, but behind the old geezer is another figure that makes Hidan bristle. Jiraiya, Asuma said, and now that Hidan is looking for it he can see that Jiraiya’s got a constipated expression, uneasy, uncertain; he doesn’t like this situation at all.

Well, he can join the fucking club, Hidan thinks testily. He jerks to the side, tries to slam his shoulder into Fumi, but she twists, drags him around in front of her and kicks the backs of his knees. Hidan yelps, hits the ground hard, and she steps up behind him, pulls his head back by the hair.

“We found a guard,” Jiraiya says, and he doesn’t look at Fumi’s scars; his eyes keep sliding away from them, and it makes Hidan even more furious. Lecherous, misogynistic fucking _bastard_ , and he tries to kick out just on principle. He hasn’t forgotten Jiraiya’s reaction the first time he saw Fumi’s face. It’s a reaction she’s gotten before, and Hidan knows she hates it. the need to kick Jiraiya’s balls in is deep-seated and instinctive, in the face of that.

Fumi nods, glancing past Jiraiya like he isn't even there. Hidan looks, too, and there's a figure behind the old bastard, white-haired and lean and watching the whole clusterfuck with one careful eye. Not ANBU, or at least not wearing the uniform, but definitely a jounin, and when he sees Hidan looking his expression gets just a little harder. There's a Konoha hitai-ate pulled down at a slant across one eye, a mask pulled up above his nose, and Hidan can tell at a glance that he’s an opinionated prick who’s going to make Hidan's life a hundred times harder. It just fucking figures, and if Hidan could flip him off in any meaningful way, he’d do so immediately.

Apparently able to see that reaction in his face, Fumi cuffs him in the ear, then inclines her head to the geezer with the cane. _Ready_ , she signals, and the man smiles, thin and unamused.

“Ah yes,” he says, and his eye follows the way her hands settle back on Hidan's shoulders. “I’ll admit I had forgotten. Your Bingo Book entry leaves much to the imagination. The side effects of your kekkei genkai are much more interesting than I remembered.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hidan can see Fumi’s mouth thin, just slightly. There's no other sign of her irritation, though. She just jerks her head at Jiraiya, then taps Hidan's collarbone, and he grows and tries to wriggle out from under her touch. There's no escaping it, unfortunately, and Fumi holds him in place as Jiraiya steps forward, already pulling a bottle of ink and a brush from his weapons pouch. The ink shines subtly, and Hidan can't feel the chakra in it with all the seals currently on him, but he knows it’s there. They’ve done this before.

“Lay him out,” Jiraiya says, and there's a grimace on his face. “Kakashi, over here.”

The one-eyed jounin moves forward, even as Fumi hauls Hidan back, topples him onto the floor and pins him there as he thrashes and curses. Then there are hands hauling up his shirt, and Kakashi is rolling up his sleeve.

“This is going to hurt,” Jiraiya warns Kakashi, and Hidan snarls, tries to kick the stupid crinkled smile off the masked bastard’s face.

“Me or him?” Kakashi asks, and that tone is almost light.

“Him more,” Jiraiya allows, like it’s a joke, and Fumi catches Hidan's chin, tips his head back.

 _Bite down on the gag,_ she tells him, and when Hidan spits a garbled threat at her the corner of her mouth tips up, just faintly. She leans down, iron-grey hair falling around him, and signs, _Pain is transient. Your future here won't be. I’ve made sure of it._

Hidan hates her, and as the first line of ink falls across his heart to burn against his skin, he stubbornly closes his eyes so he won't have to see another word.


End file.
